Persona Non Grata
by Serocco
Summary: A powerful creature, neither Persona nor Shadow, is running amok across the world, despite the loss of the Dark Hour. What could it be? Why is it here? Who's next on its hit list?
1. Crisis of Circuitry

I do not own any of the characters or concepts present in the Persona series. This is just a fan story.

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Chapter 1: Crisis of Circuitry

The pitch black night shrouded the city with darkness, engulfing the gray roads and the green grass. Night-time light posts illuminated pockets of roads and sidewalks with light, as swarms of cars jettisoned through highways. The brightness of working electricity glowed from the households and offices of those who could afford it.

One such household, large yet standard in design amongst this neighborhood, was occupied by a young, brown-haired boy in his pre-teens. He wore black shorts, an opened black jacket and an orange sweat-shirt underneath, with a black tie and white shirt visible only due to the lack of a hoodie over his head. His door, large and brown, was left open slightly.

He sat on a chair, his torso hunching forward. His left forearm laid on the desk in front of him, his right elbow balancing itself on the support beam of his leather seat. He had seven spikey strands of hair protruding forward, although no gel container was located on the desk. His right hand clutched a gray pen, the tip scribbling on a journal at the center of the desk.

"Ken!" a male voice bellowed from outside the boy's room. "You need to see this!"

Ken Amada furrowed his brow in confusion and twitched his head in the direction of the door, while keeping his eyes on the journal. He finished answering the last math problem of the page and signed his name at the top of the page, closing the journal.

Ken closed his eyes as his chest heaved upward, ensnaring the tip of the door with his fingers as he pushed it aside. He walked down the stairs, voices from the television echoing in the hallway of the house. The volume grew louder as Ken maneuvered closer to the living room.

His father knelt in front of the television, his eyes staring at the screen in alarm and his mouth gaping at the scene. Ken inhaled sharply, exhaling nervously as he turned his eyes to the screen.

The camera stared at the remains of a massive compound, alternatively colored white and gray. Wisps of smoke fluttered in the wind, fire engulfing the building. The roof at the front section had collapsed, caving much of the building into the ground. Dozens of cars were crushed by falling debris, ensnared by the fires or caught in the explosion. A firetruck was smashed by a wrecked, detached piece of metal belonging to the building; several firefighters were pinned by the ruins in front of the truck.

Other firefighters were concentrating their hoses to the center of the building, where the flames were at their strongest. Suited residents of the building were scurrying outside, through the exits at the back; police officers were escorting them to various ambulances. Reporters were interviewing the relatives of the residents as well as some of the healthier survivors.

Ken contorted his face in shock and disgust, rubbing his palm over his lips as he breathed rougher and rougher. His father was texting family members, asking for further input and checking if anyone was near the explosion. He sighed in relief as he learned none in the immediate family was hurt.

"None in our family was near the explosion," Mister Amada said, causing Ken to smile contently.

"... hundreds injured, undetermined number killed," a reporter narrated the scene off-camera, prompting both Amadas to look at the television.

"Cause is unknown," the reporter continued, his voice stern and dispassionate. "Survivors generally speak of fires starting without gas nearby."

"Why would there be any traces of gas in a concern, anyway?" Ken's father asked rhetorically, huffing at the screen.

"Huh?" Ken mumbled blankly, paying attention to the screen while listening to his father ramble.

"They'll explain," Mr. Amada replied, pointing to the screen.

On cue, the reporter continued talking. "... headquarters of the Nanjo Group resumes its over an hour-long evacuation, the fire refusing to let up."

People were being carried on stretchers, most having suffered from fourth degree burns. Limbs, torsos and crotches were charred with eschar, extending into underlying fat, muscle and bone.

"Among the deceased are... Matsuoka, butler to Nanjo's Chairman and..." The noises from the scene drowned out most of the sentence as spoken by the reporter.

Mister Amada shook his head in disapproval. "Nobody liked him, but not to this level," Mister Amada lamented somberly.

The scene switched to one of the surviving employees, who was being interviewed. It was a middle-aged man who kept his left eye shut, blood dripping from his left cheek as a medic patched him up. He twitched and groaned sporadically, tinges of pain shooting up his nerves with each pinch.

"... Nanjo's entire executive core was located in that building," the employee explained, referring to the burning headquarters three hundred meters away from his location.

"The... ow..." the man grit his teeth, clenching his hands into a fist to alleviate the pain.

"The subsidiaries and such still exist, yeah, as are their managers, but Nanjo's top-level executives were in headquarters for an annual meeting." He fixed his right eye at the interviewer, continuing with his recollection.

"I was one of the liaisons between the executives, top, mid and low-level alike, so I was escorting my own boss to the meeting." Said liaison breathed heavily, as the medic wiped his brow with a paper towel.

"We weren't able to get there," the liaison explained. "We were hit by objects hurled around the lower half of the building, in a shockwave from the explosion."

The liaison leaned his torso forward, strain overtaking his shoulders and back. The medic massaged the liaison's shoulders to keep the liaison comfortable.

"... my boss wasn't able to make it," the liaison's eye turned to the ground, his voice cracking. He swallowed audibly, clearing his throat.

"I dunno how, but when I got up after I was hit, my boss was underneath a bridge from one of the upper levels." The liaison's eye grew watery, his voice continuing to crack despite the ease with which he finished the sentence.

"Pieces of the broken bridge hit me," the liaison swallowed again, straightening his torso. "I couldn't even count the others hit or crushed by that bridge."

The scene switched to a fleet of ambulances at the corner of Nanjo headquarters, several hundred meters away from the building itself. These people had glass, shrapnel and embedded into their backs, chests, arms, hands, legs or necks, several screaming and writhing in pain as medics tended to their wounds.

"...people are still trapped inside Nanjo HQ," the narrating reporter chimed in, her voice still stoic.

"I'm not sure Nanjo can weather the storm," a Nanjo Group employee interrupted the reporter, the scene transitioning to another interview.

"Could there have been foul play involved?" asked the interviewer.

"Why would someone assassinate an entire corporate board when the concern already lost a lotta money beforehand?" The female employee shook her head slowly, taking care not to hurt herself as her wounds healed.

"You can damage a company by other means, and _that _was done by the company itself." The female employee cocked a glare at the ruined headquarters.

"Our stocks took a nosedive after a bad investment, but nobody agreed on why," explained the female employee, looking to be middle aged.

"Our Chairman called for a meeting between all administrators, and there was a lot of shouting heard even from where I was at." The female employee had her face and arm bandaged, but had no problems breathing or speaking.

"I was on break, so I left to go somewhere quieter, and I still got hit by some office appliances and shrapnel." The female employee winced a bit, but remained straight-laced.

"You lucked out, evidently," the interviewer added, trying to lighten the mood.

"Just barely, you mean," she retorted stoically, her eyes looking over the dozens more being put into ambulances.

"You know..." Ken interjected nervously. "This isn't the sorta stuff you should show your son."

His father looked at him incredulously. "You're mature enough not to let this traumatize you." Mister Amada crossed his arms, furrowing his brow.

"Besides, it might affect you," Mister Amada warned. "I technically work for Nanjo, since I'm part of their subsidiaries." Ken shrugged, turning his attention back to the television.

"...Chairman of Nanjo Group, Kei Nanjo, has been proclaimed dead on arrival of ambulance," the reporter said somberly.

"Fourth degree burns on his upper body, from the face to the waist," the reporter cringed at the details of Kei Nanjo's death.

"That means Yamaoka's dead, too..." Mister Amada muttered under his breath, rubbing his chin astutely.

"Yuya Narumi, the CEO, and Jihei Suzakuin, the COO, have been discovered," the reporter interjected, snapping Mister Amada from his thoughts.

"... Suzakuin was impaled through the sternum and the naval by shrapnel," the reporter continued. "Narumi was burned to the bone - DNA analysis confirmed identity."

Ken and his father both cringed at the details of the deaths, but kept watching. There was a notice at the news bar below the headlines, stating the casualties list as well as the arrival of further firefighters and police officers.

"How are they able to get there so quick?" Ken queried, raising his brow at the amount of law enforcement and firefighting squads already at the scene.

"The Nanjo Group owns most of them," Mister Amada explained. "Kanagawa, Yamanashi, Shizuoka, Ishikawa, Nagano and Nigata are among the Prefectures under their industrial and corporate control."

"They're one of the few family-based concerns left in Japan," another surviving employee interjected from the screen, unwittingly finishing Mister Amada's point.

"I think they can handle it in the long run, but administration's fucked right now," the survivor rolled his shoulders backward to help his strained muscles.

"I can't tell if it was an accident or an attack," the employee shook his head irritably.

"I think the administrators were wasting money on SEBEC products that were only cool in theory," the employee admitted with an air of impunity.

"SEBEC?" Ken asked, looking to his father.

"Saeki Electronics, Biological and Energy Corporation, headed by some rich blonde named Kaoru," was his answer.

A loud rattling was heard from the direction of the door, startling Ken. His father signaled for Ken to run to his room. Mister Amada reached for a knife at the kitchen, which was in front of the living room, and looked out the window. Nothing could be seen. Another rattle was heard, this time sounding like chains clanking.

Sweat dripped from both Amadas' faces, Ken's father nervously shaking his hand as he looked through the door. Ken himself, while not nervous, held his Evoker with a steadier grip. Mister Amada peaked his eye at the small, circular glass at the door, seeing nothing but a large mass of gray.

An incendiary bullet jettisoned through the door and burrowed into Mister Amada's forehead, propelling him to the ground. His face burned from the inside-out, the flesh charred beyond repair.

"DAD!" Ken screamed out, pointing the Evoker to his head and pulling the trigger, twice. A sphere of light blue energy surrounds the boy, with Kala-Nemi and Nemesis emerging. Kala-Nemi charges forward, running over the couches, chairs and desks as its enlarged, metallic shoulders spun around.

A three-foot long gun barrel points to the Persona and opens fire, incendiary bullets severing the arms from Kala-Nemi; who falls to the ground helplessly. As it looks to the sharpshooter, all it could see were chains and levitating coat-tails all around its body.

"Reap...er..." was what Kala-Nemi could say before three more bullets pierced its neck, severing its head as the flames burnt its thick armor.

Undaunted, Nemesis grabbed onto the Reaper and descended its saw onto him. Sparks flew about as the serrated blades connected with the Reaper's head, yet no blood or circuitry could be seen. The Reaper grabbed onto Nemesis' left wrist, his arm into a V-shaped formation as he pulled on Nemesis' arm, severing it from the socket. Broken wires and clockwork fell onto the floor, leaving Nemesis to fall at his side. The Reaper raised its right hand at him and fired an extra four rounds onto Nemesis' face and saw, the Persona's lifeless body slumping over the floor.

Ken, undaunted, let go of his gun and ran up to the Reaper, picking the knife from the ground. Tears ran down his eyes as he grit his teeth in equal parts horror and rage. The cold steel collided with the gray metal of what turned out to be a spikier-looking revolver. The coat-tails slammed themselves onto Ken, pushing him so far away that he hits the stairs, groaning in pain. Before Ken could react, the Reaper elevated his right hand and fired a bullet into Ken's shoulder, stomach and neck. Blazing fire charred Ken's skin as his head slumped backwards, the back of his neck hitting the rim of a staircase, cracking the spinal cord.

Raising his left hand, the Reaper directed his palm to the revolver, levitating it from the floor and latching onto his hand. The Reaper's long, skeletal fingers ensnared the butt of the gun and grazed the trigger. The sharpshooter twirled both guns forward, stopping as he grabbed the chambers; the spikey barrels pointed to his wrists. Cocking his palms back and protruding the wrists forward, the revolvers were slipped into his black sleeves. Absorbing the contact, the Reaper swung his hands backwards, watching Nemesis and Kala-Nemi dissolve into the atmosphere.

Footsteps from concerned neighbors and law enforcement prompted the Reaper to leave the scene, turning his cloak pitch-black to blend with the darkness. None were able to see him. As he hovered over the ground, he spotted a gray-haired, middle-aged man with olive skin and a striped black suit. It was Detective Kurosawa, who squinted his eyes at the corner of the house upon hearing chains rattle.

Furrowing his brow, Kurosawa chose to brush it off, preferring to deal with his task at hand. Nevertheless, as Kurosawa walked into the house, the Reaper's dark, demonic baritone beamed into his head.

**'Till there are none.  
**


	2. A Solemn Voice

Chapter 2: A Solemn Voice

Kurosawa sits at his desk, leaning forward and rubbing his forehead with his middle and pointer fingers. He bore an annoyed, irritable expression, his eyes looking through the paper on his left hand. There was a young, brown-haired, bespectacled woman in front of him, wearing a green, buttoned up jacket with a chest pocket.

"264 injured," the woman explained. "312 killed in the initial blast." Kurosawa was calm, taking the casualties report from her hand. at the casualties report.

"An additional 109 succumbed to injuries." Kurosawa lifted his eyes over the paper, locking gazes with the woman, whose name was Musubu Torikiri. She held her head down and turned her gaze to the wall.

"That many?" he asked, shaking his head disapprovingly.

"Yeah..." Torikiri replied, hanging her head lower.

"Yukino Mayuzumi took snapshots of the worst injuries and the building," Torikiri explained, closing her eyes as she cleared her throat.

Torikiri rubbed "Nothing flammable was in the building," she continued. "It's as if fire just... materialized." She bit her lower lip and shook her head, feeling that she sounded ridiculous for uttering that last word.

Kurosawa put the paper down, leaning back and sinking into his chair. He looked up the roof, processing the information.

"That's not quite as implausible as you think, Torikiri." She jolted her head at Kurosawa, eyes widened with surprise and confusion.

"Neighbors called my deputies up for patricide at a neighborhood." Kurosawa spoke plainly, ignoring how Torikiri tilted her head curiously.

"Ken Amada, early teens, and his father, mid 40s, had the same burn marks as the victims of the explosion." Torikiri cringed, rubbing her elbow with her right hand.

"Officially, we ruled it as murder-suicide, but..." Kurosawa opened a drawer under his desk, grabbing photos taken by Fujii Shunsuke, Mayuzumi's mentor.

He picked one that had Ken Amada as its focus, showing it to Torikiri, who winced at the raw imagery.

"He had a gun," Kurosawa pointed to the object in question, "but it wasn't loaded." Torikiri furrowed her brow and tilted her head, waiting for a response.

"We found no ammunition in the house at all." Kurosawa placed that photo down and took out another, this one focusing on Mister Amada.

"Incendiary bullets don't cause _that _either," he deduced, squinting his eyes at the photo.

"I... heard some chains at the house, but when I looked, there was nothing." Kurosawa pressed the photo on the desk, clanking his teeth in frustration.

He sighed, shaking his head again. "Daisuke Todoroki called me for an update on this," Kurosawa added. "He's convinced it was an attack. He said he's worried about more occurring."

Kurosawa stood up and walked towards the window, his hands crossed in front of his chest. "Todoroki doubled recruitment efforts for all his precincts in Sumaru. He's pushing for Kyouji Kuzunoha to do the same in Mikage."

Torikiri raised her brow in surprise. "Both of those cities belong to Prefectures owned by Nanjo." Torikiri slowly nodded her head as she finished speaking, agreeing with the strategy.

Kurosawa returned the nod, continuing with his speech. "I've done the same for Iwatodai, just in case Kirijo is targeted. The chiefs of Inaba and Okina still need some convincing."

"... I would like to join full-time, Kurosawa-san." Tokiriki bowed deeply, closing her eyes as she awaited his response. No sign of nervousness was evident in her body language.

Kurosawa raised his brow curiously, surprised at her demand. "Hmmm... you _are _good at mathematics and you're rather investigative, so..." he cupped his chin with his pointer and thumb.

"...Guess I can't convince you otherwise. Go meet with Ryotaro Dojima for full initiation." He held out his hand, the palm horizontal.

Torikiri smiled widely. "Arigatou, Kurosawa-san." She took several steps back, still bowed, before grabbing hold of the doorknob. Turning around, she opened the door and left the room.

Kurosawa headed for his chair, a hint of a smile in his face despite himself. Before he could sit, however, he heard the cackling noise of chains. Widening his eyes in alarm, Kurosawa darted his eyes all around the room, breathing heavily. As his eyes looked to the window, his breathing slowed and his demeanor calmed, analyzing the outside of his office. Rain collided onto the glass, but nothing else could be seen.

A ringing sound could be heard from his phone. He leaned forward, clasping the phone to the side of the desk. Mashing on a button, the phone clicked as he held it to his ear.

"Domo," said the calm, courteous voice at the other line. It belonged to a young man.

"Is this Detective Kurosawa?" asked the man.

"_Chief_ Kurosawa, yes." The officer corrected proudly, smiling at the end of the sentence.

"Congratulations, sir." The man held no sarcasm there.

"I am Naoya Todou, and I am calling to ask..." Naoya drifted off, his eyes staring at the floor.

"How... long did it take for Kei Nanjo to die?" An air of silence dominated the atmosphere, neither male looking to spoke immediately. The wind blew softly on the papers, with rain bombarding the glass windows. Muffled words from outside Kurosawa's house could be heard.

Finally, the silence broke. "... Dead on arrival, they said," Kurosawa explained, his voice firm and unmoving.

"I'd say less than half an hour, tops." Kurosawa looked to the window, preferring to watch the splattered bunches of water outside.

"... Arigatou, Kurosawa-san." Naoya bowed from the other line, before hanging up the phone.

Kurosawa sat on his chair, looking at the casualties report again. He frowned deeply, furrowing his brow.

"... how many other phone calls like that am I gonna get?"

Cue phone ring. "Goddammit."


	3. Water in the Well

Chapter 3: Water in the Well

Ryotaro Dojima ran his hand over his spikey, black hair, groaning loudly. His brow was furrowed, his eyes closed as he bore a frown. He leaned his torso forward, his head tilted horizontally, with one hand cupped into a fist and pressed on his side.

"Tch, all right, welcome to the force," Dojima said, sighing as he held his hand to Torikiri.

"Arigatou!" came Torikiri's response, who clasped Dojima's hand and bowed deeply; smiling widely.

Dojima returned the smile, reaching for a paper in his pocket. He handed it to Torikiri, who read the contents astutely.

"That's how you can join officially," he explained, lending her a pen. Torikiri proceeded to write down her name, gender and other information the paper asked for her to document.

"Huh... it's taking you no time." He turned his head to the side and fixed his eyes at the wall, a little flustered.

"When I was signing' up, I had to consult my ID to finish signing everything off." He shrugged, waving his hand towards him as he turned his body around.

"Kirijo's bought what's left of the Nanjo Group," Dojima said suddenly, jolting Torikiri from her writing.

"They agreed to merge with Kirijo," he clarified, clasping a doorknob and opening the door to his office.

"That's a pretty sound move," Torikiri nodded, looking around Dojima's office as she entered the room.

"SEBEC alone is too important to give it off to someone else." Torikiri tilted her head at the rather basic, almost vacant office, with only a few pictures of captured criminals all around it.

"Not only that," Dojima interjected, taking a seat in front of his desk. "Kirijo's always been a partner to the Nanjo Group." Dojima reached for his coffee mug and poured steaming, dark brown liquid into it.

"Best of both worlds, I'd say." His lips lightly grazed the mug, liquid descending onto his tongue in short bursts. He winced slightly at the heat.

"Our job, now, is to figure out what happened to Nanjo's HQ." Dojima put the mug on his desk, waving his palm over the smoke emanating from the liquid.

"I, uhh... noticed that most of Nanjo-san's graduates from Hermelin were with him at HQ." Torikiri laid her derriere on the chair in front of his desk, placed the pen on the paper and gave the clipboard to him.

Dojima looked over it, analyzing the contents. "Hmmm... you were a teacher at Hermelin?" Dojima raised his brow, planting his elbow on the table and cupping his chin.

Torikiri nodded, grabbing her right wrist and placing it on her thighs. "I recognize who they were, too..." She drifted off, biting her lip as she fixed her gaze on her hands; her eyes appearing sorrowful.

"Chisato Kasai, Yosuke Naito, Yuriko Yamamoto, Kumi Hirose, Yuko Himeno, Kenta Yokouchi, Rose Futaba, Tadashi Satomi and Tsutomu Kurouri." Torikiri's voice grew softer and softer with each name uttered through her gritted teeth.

"Nanjo-san employed them into his business after they graduated." Torikiri took in a deep breath, heaving her shoulders up and down as she exhaled calmly.

"Are they all...?" He was only met with a nod from her. He sighed, shaking his head in disapproval.

Dojima looked to the paperclip, nodding every so often as he read through what she wrote. "All right, you're in."

Torikiri smiled, bowing her head. "Arigatou, Dojima-dono!"


End file.
